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2013.04.04 - Flowers for Algernon's Mom
Frederick Jaeger AKA Dragnet. doesn't really have family, not anymore. Not in the melodramatic sense of death, it just doesn't make very much sense for him to see them. Since he uh...has this highly experimental combat armor that seems to attract more eyes than not, stealth system be damned. Why can't these folks just go bother Tony Stark? At any rate, it _is_ his mothers birthday, so it seems appropriate that he should send something. Nameless, untraceable, perhaps even delivered personally by invisible hand. It is a hours past the shops closing. Gotham churns and rages with its traditional elements, but in the vicinity of the flower shop, it is quiet. A cathedral to more pristine emotions. Even in Dragnet's relative absence, he remembers the flower shop was somewhere he had been before. A hangout of a 'friend of a friend'. It seems as good a place to pickup flowers as any. The sort of venue when a fly by night by stealthsuit is committed. He has traveled to this venue largely through the AIDOS's cloaking system, but he disengages as he walks between the various pots and bouquets offered. He doesn't like looking at things when cloaked if there is no threat. Dynamic camouflage is for threat, for prowling, for escape. Something so simple, so innocent as choosing flowers should be done in plain sight. Still, its telling that he doesn't take off the helmet. That the armor remains on. That the heads up display and the relatively mild light of ammunition counters and the charge of his armors shock system glow intangible blue on the other side of his reflective faceplate. He's learned he is never completely safe. Not even now. Especially now. Helena Bertinelli stayed late at work, helping Dinah get her shop's inventory all tallied up. She'd been in the basement for the past half hour, tracking down and making note of every last vase, planter, pot, and display stand but that's finally completed and she returns to the main room of the florist's shop, clipboard in hand. Of course, the last thing she was expecting to see was Dragnet of all people meandering through the shop as if the place were still open. "The hell?" Nope, Heather is not in costume. She was down at the gym working out. She'd taken some fighting lessons, or at least sparring sessions with the prize fighter turned Catman. However, it's been a couple years since she was afraid of walking the streets alone. Strolling casually along, she's talking on her cellphone as she approaches the shop. A cellphone she's been using all day. And right in the middle of talking, she stops and stares at the thing, "Really? Of all times!" She shakes her head and stuffs it back in her pocket, "Damnit... battery's dead." And... "... the hell?" she asks, staring at the armored individual up ahead as he heads into the shop. The gauntlet raises slowly, matter of factly. Not at Helena, but around her. A slow exhalation of breath as the arm steadies itself. He doesn't recognize Helena, though there might a nagging essence of familiarity that makes him just a tad less nervous than usual. He backs away, looks at the various floral arrangements. "Long night. Needed something, but all the shops are all closed...its....kind of important. I'll just find what I want, leave the money, and go." He says, voice distorted, deepened, fed through vocalization software and leaving as something deeper, something that should belong to an older, more confident male. Despite that, there is an uncertainty in that voice. A lingering resentment that even such a thing has to be done at the most unlikely hour, in a way that reeks of social retardation. He would never come here, go anywhere near this kind of place without his armor. He doesn't want to become a known quantity, a variable that can be extracted from someone elses computer or to lose what privacy he has. Privacy is the only thing he has that allows him to pretend he's normal. So occasionally in defense of that he does abnormal things. Like show up at flower shops at two in the morning. The circuitry of his armor glows, the weaving of its nano-kevlaresque padding slowly becoming less and less visible. Still, the head and his torso, the right hand are still visible. Almost as if asking which is her preference. "If you prefer, we can do it this way? You can pretend I wasn't here, just make a tally. That way we don't need to talk, and you can dismiss it as...I don't know. Maybe too much work?" He offers plaintively. Heather isn't noticed. He isn't ignoring her, he's just in a kind of overload, though he can definitely hear her, perceive her movements. Its just not processed as anything but background noise. For the moment. Helena Bertinelli rolls her eyes, stepping toward the counter and setting the clipboard down. She remembers Dragnet from one of HAL's missions, but of course she can't mention that to him. So instead, she tries for friendly shopkeeper... or her version of it. "Yeah, that's not gonna work for me. What do you need? I can write it up and add it to tomorrow's till." And there's the young woman outside in that leather jacket who is just staring. This sort of thing happens... in Gotham? I mean yeah, she's seen heroes in costumes do odd things downtown... but.. walking into a flower shop? She can tell the guy is nervous and so she takes a breath, steels herself and walks in behind the armored guy, "Tell you what... would it help if I bought a couple and just gave you what you needed?" she asks the armored guy. After all, the voice was digitized, but she's pretty good at noticing tension and hestiation in the body language. This guy wasn't building up to an attack, he seemed to be all but ready to run away. She smiles to Helena, whom she doesn't realize she knows... and then reaches into a pocket to pull out a velcro wallet... pulling an AMEX card out of it to hand over, "I need something to make my living room smell awesome if your credit card machine is still on." Dragnet reaches for the clasp beneath his neck. There is a click, one might almost think he is going to unmask, but no, there is an apartment just large enough to hold a stack of bills one imagines is suitable to the task. They are rumpled, a bit on the used side, but its still functional US currency. Always cash. Cards leave a trail. The helmet is then reclicked into its 'locked' position. He destealths as he is informed its not going to work. "No need." He says, shifting now to make sure he keeps both women in his sights. He won't hurt anyone. To say nothing of do not kill, he isn't the type to even discharge non-lethal ordnance in such a ridiculous situation. Yet space is continuously sought, making sure his exit is not cut off. His hand reaches for a bouquet he had already found suitable. The wad is thrown is tossed at the counter. "Sorry for the inconvenience!" He manages, bolting for the eixt. Note to self: even flower retrieval runs require stealth and evasion protocols. Helena Bertinelli blinks and looks at Heather as she enters the store then back at Dragnet's strange behavior. Well, pretty much par for the course for this guy from what she remembers. "No, sorry, the card machine is down until morning. I could do a manual imprint though, if you really need." When the costumed man throws a wad of bills at her she reacts more out of instinct than intentional behavior. Her hand snaps out and catches the money in mid-air before it can scatter or land on the counter. "Hold up," she calls, to keep him from leaving. She quickly counts the cash and separates the amount that most closely covers the chosen bouquet. "Here's your change back." Well, no need to use the AMEX then. Heather just inclines her head and bites her lower lip.. one corner of it at least. As the guy turns to bolt... she just murmurs, "No, that wasn't awkward at all.." and then Helena is doing the change thing and she just shakes her head, "Well, I can mark that off my list of... now I've seen it all." she remarks softly, kinda just standing there staring. Actually...yeah. He is going to need the change, actually. The flowers have burned through a lot of his spending money. One of the perils of being a scrounger and occasional day laborer by trade. The gauntlets stay primed, but in a slightly lowered position. There is no gesture of threat, just...he seems quite keen on making sure he will not tolerate having his exit cut off. "Thank you." He murmurs. The hand reaches to take the change. Its fractional, but it can be seen the way he looks at the hand that just up and snatched the money clip. As if it has done something _terribly_ interesting. "Sorry for your jaunt into the surreal. Its one of the few chances I have to do something like this." Still nervous even though there might be just a taint of vexation in the response he gives Heather. Even high power armored men on the run and sometime vigilantes need to buy flowers sometimes. His one opportunity just happened to be now. "Now....is that all?" He asks Helena. Helena Bertinelli shrugs at the costumed man, continuing to feign ignorance. "No problem. Masks kind of have rough hours from what I've seen. Hope the recipient enjoys those flowers." She smiles then and looks at Heather again. "So, something aromatic, hm? Roses usually top that last, though I've found some lilies can be pretty nice too. Feel free to wander and follow your nose." Hell, may as well get a couple of sales out of the way while the nightowls are here. Well, c'mon girl. You're staring like an idiot. "Have a nice night..." she remarks towards Dragnet. . . o o O O (Seriously? That's the best you could do?!) She shakes her head and sighs before looking towards Helena. "Well, I don't carry cash really. So, I don't want to be difficult. I was just trying to... you know..." she gestures to the armored withdrawing guy, "I was out there... overheard... um.. hi." she adds with a smile, "Nice shop by the way." In all due fairness to Heather, this is weird. Even by Gotham's standards. This sort of thing doesn't usually even happen in New York or Metropolis...usually. "My apologies for causing a commotion. Don't worry about it." Dragnet comments, a bit of dryness injected into the voice alteration. His gaze sweeps around as the stealth system deactivates and he quietly slips out. For all intents and purposes, he's in the area, functionally can pick up on the conversation. He just has other concerns that might be just as pressing. When he is reasonably certain he is out of earshot, he looks out over the Gotham skyline. Then, he says something utterly and truly profound. "This is why I'm going to die alone." He remarks in utter sincerity. Not because of the armor, _not_ because of his super secret identity, not even because he is functionally a transient. Frederick Jager can't talk to women. He really can't. Its like its hardwired into his genetic code. Helena Bertinelli watches Dragnet leave, and looks at Heather. "Do you also get the feeling we missed something there?" She makes a mental note to try and get in touch with HAL about this. Or if she has to, the Bat. She mentally shakes herself then. "Thanks for trying, anyway... you look familiar." Must be the late hour. "Right there with you, lost in the Twilight zone..." Heather smirks and adds, "And I'm not talking about stupid sparkley vampires." She shrugs her shoulders and then replies to the latter part of Helena's comment, "And yeah, I get that a lot.... but if you're about done here, maybe we can grab a coffee and at least find a way to enjoy this episode of the Twilight Zone." Dragnet examines each gauntlet critically after he has put just a bit more distance between himself and the flower shop. With the new modifications to the armor, he had been concerned about weight and power draw, but it seems as if the AIDOS is largely unconcerned about such things. It even seems to perform _better_ as he tinkers with it. He still hears traces of their conversation, but more as background noise. One more audio line to filter amongst the rest. he looks happily at the flowers though, even behind the mask. He did something kind of right tonight....and then a womans shriek. Dragnet just looks up at the sky, expecting it to rain on him at any moment. The flowers are set aside, kept in as safe a position as he can manage as he goes to investigate under the cover of his dynamic camouflage. He will come back for them. Maybe this will be a tentative step towards apologizing, for making up for the disappointments he lavished upon his parents, his mother in particular. Still, he knows she would want him to do his duty first. It just means that maybe they won't be as fresh when they get to her, just a little beat up. Hopefully, just this once, it will be the thought that counts. Helena Bertinelli shakes her head no at Heather. "Wish I could, but I have to head home as soon as I lock up here." She steps behind the counter to write up a paper ticket for the bouquet Dragnet purchased, and to put the cash into the register. "But stop by again tomorrow, maybe we can figure something out then." Nodding, Heather still looks a bit bewildered, and this is coming from someone who has been shot in the head and got up afterwards. She just waves to Helena as she strolls out. Then it hits her. "Oh crap.." and she dashes for her car, and her car charger. She was in the middle of talking to her agent and saying no f'in way... to a job the agent wanted her to do! She'd better get back on the horn and call him before he agreed that she'd do something tasteless. Category:Log